


isn't it lovely, all alone

by abyssith



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: A little comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 13, Childhood Memories, First Kiss, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, No Happy Ending Fest, Not A Fix-It, Zacharias and Bruno are just two personalities of one person, let's go with that because i appreciate it, more or less, oh this is a rewrite btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssith/pseuds/abyssith
Summary: "Please, remember me like this,” Zacharias had said. There was a hollowness behind his words, a certain heartbreak so unique that it was tangible only as a void. “Do not speak of this again."





	isn't it lovely, all alone

**Author's Note:**

> Compliant with Chapter 13, Part 5: A Bond Renewed  
> 

Fighting, it seems, is a thing he has done since he was born. A wooden sword in his hand when he was six, archery lessons when he was eight, thrown off a horse at eleven. At fifteen, he was fitted for armor, a year before he reached the age of manhood. Now it is like second nature, and Alfonse fights as fluidly and mightily as the ocean itself. 

Long ago he fought to make people proud. Then, after he was seriously wounded for the first time in the side, he lost some of his edge and fought to survive. But as his confidence returned so did his skill, and he learned how to fight to win. And then he realized the worth of it, the meaning of the battles he endured; he realized the meaning of being a prince. He decides that was when he no longer felt pride when he landed a blow and instead would wince, because the price of a kingdom and the price of freedom should not be a life. Eventually he overcame this inhibition and once again fought for the sake of the people who watched him, except now it is for his king, his father, his people.

It is rare that he would ever associate emotion with fighting. Loss, perhaps, maybe guilt. But when Alfonse fought, it was because it was a brutal, necessary thing, and was never viewed as something to be felt. If you left yourself open to feelings while you slashed your enemies and shot your foes, your conscience would be devastated. And so emotion like this—raw, anxious emotion that clogs his throat and threatens to lead his weapon astray as it pulls at his heart—is rare, so rare that Alfonse has not learned how to control it. Because now, on these ruins where battle cries echo off stones like haunted wails and the shadows lurk and whisper of old souls, he feels scared for the first time in a while. Not for his own life, though: he fears the life of one of his enemies.

It isn’t like they’ve always been enemies. Alfonse knew Zacharias before he up and disappeared, back when they were younger and their lives were lighter and didn’t require a consistently high level of stress. He knew Zacharias, knew how he laughed through his nose when he pretended he wasn’t amused, knew how he loved cloudy days but only if it didn’t rain, knew that when he cried, something was _very_ wrong because Zacharias never cried. He knew ravens were Zacharias’s favorite bird and that he still has a dream of being able to fly. He could explain how Zacharias’s fingers would move as they deftly strung a bow and smoothly pulled it back to his cheek to fire. And he knew that the arrow that left Zacharias’s hands would, inevitably, always find its mark.

He knew Zacharias. But not anymore. No, Alfonse has discovered he does not know Prince Bruno at all.

He’s somewhere in here, perhaps hidden behind a pillar. Alfonse thinks he can hear him, but all of his focus is on the bulky mercenary before him. Or, rather, it should be. Ike is relentless, a bull wielding twin blades as its horns, and a cold sweat breaks out on Alfonse’s burning skin while he struggles to deflect and parry. He knocks away Ike’s sword and sidesteps, managing to slip through a chink in his defenses and draw a long cut across the crook of Ike’s elbow. Ike grunts and strikes back with twice his normal force, and Alfonse is only able to dive away because of his smaller size. He looks up, already trying to figure out how to escape and regain his stance, but as Ike approaches him, two feathered shafts sprout from the narrow, unprotected spot on his thigh in rapid procession. A roar washes over Alfonse and he watches as Ike turns his head angrily towards Virion, who is perched on one of the ruined constructions like a proud hawk. Alfonse thinks the archer might’ve winked at him, but Virion quickly goes back to distracting Ike with his arrows. With a few more that bounce off Ike’s chest and one that strikes on his shoulder, Ike soon busies himself with dodging the projectiles.

Alfonse takes this moment to climb back to his feet and catch his breath. He does a quick survey of himself and finds he has a few cuts across his arms and a longer gash across his knee, fortunately shallow enough to warrant only a light bandage when he gets to the infirmary. There’s a cut above his left eyebrow that throbs quite badly, though, and by the blood that he has to blink away from his eye, he figures this is the worst wound he has received. Possibly from a stray arrow that grazed him—there’s an archer on the other side, but Alfonse can’t see her. 

He wipes the blood away and squints as he looks around. By some miracle, he is alone for the time being, and now his mind is able to revert to its default setting of _Zacharias._

_Where is he?_ Alfonse thinks, all at once panicked. His mouth turns sour when he briefly considers the possibility of Zacharias—Bruno—lying dead on the field. But that could not be; he is far too experienced and adept to have simply dropped dead to one of Alfonse’s team, especially without much commotion or a particularly large fight that Alfonse would have certainly seen or even become part of. In fact he’s sure Bruno is the most dangerous on the field right now, as he possesses a level of skill that rivals even the Hero King Marth. He’s seen it with his own eyes. He knows Bruno is somewhere, somewhere close.

A glint of light on metal followed by a flash of red hair draws Alfonse’s eyes to his right. The splash of color belongs to Anna, whose lithe arms flexing with muscle built on experience are swinging her axe around her body. Alfonse follows it, almost in a trance, as it rips through the air toward its target: the cloaked, feathered figure of Bruno.

Alfonse moves the instant the axe collides with a shield invisible until the weapon hits, a ripple of dark purple in the shape of a half-dome around Bruno’s body the only sign of its existence. He races towards the pair in combat as fast as his armor will allow, clutching the sword in his hand like a child’s blanket. He cannot shake the short, clipped conversation he held with the prince before the battle, before Zacharias slipped under and caved to Bruno. Alfonse had screamed his name, pleading for him to come back, but the place erupted into chaos when the first spell was unleashed. He had not reached Bruno since.

As he grows nearer, Alfonse gathers his breath and holds it tight in his chest until he finds the strength to expel it in a wordless cry, unable to form coherent words. Anna heeds his call, dancing backwards on instinct to glance at her friend. But Bruno only seems to grow ever more aggressive, and his chanting amps up in volume and intensity. However, in his anger he casts the spell prematurely, and the uncontrolled blast of magic completely misses the Commander. Bruno howls and sweeps his arm wide, hurling five tiny daggers at Anna simultaneously. The young woman twists wildly to dodge them, exclaiming loud enough for Alfonse to hear when one still catches her just underneath the side of her ribs. Alfonse can see the furious look gleaming in her eyes as she lunges once and then rears back, preparing her axe for a powerful blow while Bruno continues to chant.

“Stop,” Alfonse finally begs in a hoarse shout, flinging his sword forward in a desperate gambit. Bruno falters, just like Alfonse had hoped he would. But he didn’t account for Bruno to drop his tome and lower all of his shields in his shock at Alfonse’s voice, and he certainly didn’t account to overshoot Anna’s axe so far. The hilt of his blade meets her weapon mid-air, yet it isn’t enough to deflect the blow. It does just enough to redirect its direction towards the left of Bruno’s chest, barely preventing a sure death in the second. But the axe still finds its mark, still slips between the worn cracks of his armor and still cleaves down Bruno’s side. By the time Anna pulls back, white in the cheeks and horror in her eyes, it’s too late.

The agonized shriek that wrenches itself free of Bruno’s lips shakes Alfonse’s bones and freezes the blood in his veins. He slows to an unsteady stagger, lurching more than he is walking, and reaches them in a daze.

Anna is near tears, almost hysterical as she kneels beside the man that has sunk to his hands and knees. One hand is on his shoulder and the other is moving towards the wound seeping blood, shaking as she gasps, “Oh, my gods, I never meant to—”

“But you did,” Alfonse hears Bruno cough. And then his heart stops because that’s Zacharias speaking, that’s Zacharias’s blood staining the stones under his feet. “And I…I would not have expected anything less from you, Anna.”

“What are you talking about?” Anna blurts, frowning deeply as Zacharias slaps her hand away from him. “Let me help you!”

“Why should you?” Zacharias snaps.

Alfonse cannot possibly take much more of this. He comes to rest on one knee beside Zacharias’s bowed form and says, “Because it’s you, Zacharias.”

Zacharias looks at him sharply, as if he had not noticed Alfonse until now. His face is tight with pain and Alfonse physically recoils, the sight bringing him to tears. “Heal yourself, please. I cannot stand this. Or let me,” he implores, reaching out like Anna.

“The wound will not kill me,” Zacharias grunts, almost sounding disappointed. “The spells I have cast upon my body are already at work, healing me. See for yourself.” With some struggle he lifts his arm, and the sound of pain he makes almost causes Alfonse to fall upon him and bandage him with the fabric of his own mantle until he notices the wisps of violet magic shimmering faintly within the tattered gaps in Zacharias’s robes. 

“The spells are weak, and I will be left with much damage, but had it been so easy to dispose of my pitiful life, I would have perished years ago. And so I ask you,” Zacharias says, looking first at Anna and then at Alfonse, “will you not prove yourself a worthy Commander of leading your people and finally kill your enemy?”

Alfonse pales. Anna is about to say something, but Sharena’s high-pitched yell interrupts them. “No, Zacharias!”

All three turn to look at her coming towards them, all weapons gone and her hands turned upwards to show peace. Her blond hair is in tangles and her face is smudged with grime, where it is clear she has already begun to cry. “I knew it was you,” she says, sobbing as she stands over them. “I knew you would come back to us.”

“I never planned to stay.” Zacharias’s voice is steady but still strained. Alfonse can feel his ache as if it were his own. “You know what you must do. We grew up together. I know you, all three of you, are capable of this and more.” He looks at Alfonse the longest, maybe because he knows that is where he will find the ultimate say in his fate. “Alfonse, you—”

“No,” Alfonse says, both firm and delicate with his mounting sadness at the same time. “No, you cannot ask me for this. I will never do it. I would die first before I let you.”

Zacharias’s nose wrinkles with his disgust and he bellows in a sudden rage, pounding the ground with his fist. His next words tremble with fury and untamed emotion. “You are foolish! All of you! Don’t you understand? Zacharias is gone. _I_ am gone. There is nothing left for you here! _Nothing!_ So stop— _refusing_ to realize that! You think you are helping me by keeping up this charade of friendship. All you have done is make this harder on me to accept.” 

He spits a clot of blood onto Alfonse’s shoe, but all Alfonse feels is more hurt than he has ever experienced before. He can hardly hear Zacharias’s seething monologue in his grief.

“I never wanted this life,” Zacharias continues, still staring at his bruised fists against the ground and his voice just as loud. “I never meant to hurt you. None of you. But look where we are—I cannot fathom the pain I may unleash upon you in the near future. Nor do I wish to even come upon the chance to. So again I beg, no longer as an enemy, but as a friend.” He slowly looks up and Alfonse looks down, watching the tears of the truest friend he has ever known mix with the blood spreading between the cracks in the stone. Zacharias’s last request is soft, a relief from the rearing lion of his previous anger. “Kill me. Anna, Sharena. Alfonse. _Please_.”

“Zacharias,” Alfonse says, helpless to say anything else. He bites his lip and draws back, squeezing his eyes shut because he fears that if he looks upon Zacharias for too long, he will betray the feelings he is already fighting so hard to hide. He settles for pleading with his expression, hoping the Emblian prince might see what he wants to say.

“What’s stopping you?” Zacharias demands. His entire body begins to shake. “Kill me!”

Alfonse feels something boiling in his throat, and it hurts almost as much as the piercing throb in his chest. His eyes burn and he tries to discreetly wipe at them. “You’re my—you’re our friend, Zacharias,” he chokes out. “I cannot kill a friend.” But he knows there’s so much more to it than that; he knows _Zacharias_ is so much more than that.

 

* * *

 

He remembers them dueling in the forest outside of his father’s castle, clashing swords until their young, playful boyish nature got the best of them and they laughed as they wrestled and rolled around in the grass. He thinks about them holding each other in the privacy of Alfonse’s quarters during the particularly bad thunderstorms, not because they were scared but because it was the only thing they wanted to do when they could not go outside. He recalls a singular memory of sharing a tent with the man when they were traveling together once, and in the middle of the night they had wordlessly found each other’s hands and fell asleep sharing that simple but meaningful touch. Maybe the most painful memory of all was the final one Alfonse had made before Zacharias vanished from their company: they had been cleaning weapons, a mundane task they faced almost daily. They were making idle conversation but were content to stay quiet until Zacharias had halted in his work and turned to his friend.

_“Alfonse?”_ he had asked, quite hesitantly. 

Alfonse had hummed in response, didn’t look away from his sword. _“Yeah?”_

_“What would you say if I had to…go away for a while?”_

That had gotten Alfonse to stop. He paused and looked up, already getting nervous. He had no reason to say anything but the honest truth while they were alone. _“Well, I—I would certainly hope you would say goodbye to me first. A parting kiss, perhaps?”_

A long, almost thoughtful silence. And then: _“I did not expect such a reasonable response.”_

Zacharias had laughed and Alfonse did, too, neither of them quite sure if the other was lying. Their eyes had met and Alfonse grew still, hypnotized as always by the mix of fire and wine turning endless cycles inside the man’s irises. Weapons forgotten, they were drawn to each other as if by a magnet, not walking so much as floating. It took only an hand around a neck, a few fingers grazing a rugged cheek, for their lips to find each other’s for a few precious, exhilarating seconds.

And then it was over.

The last words Alfonse remembers from that day were accompanied by guilty eyes heavy with anguish and a tender hand that gently covered his mouth when he tried to speak. _“Please, remember me like this,”_ Zacharias had whispered. There was a hollowness behind his words, a certain heartbreak so unique that it was tangible only as a void. _“Do not speak of this again. Take this not as my regret it happened, but as my regret that it had not happened years ago.”_ The next thing he knew, Alfonse was alone in the weaponry.

 

* * *

 

He sees Zacharias grit his teeth and he senses another argument coming up fast; he holds up a hand to dissuade the older man. Even so, Alfonse is sure that Zacharias was not stopped by the gesture more than he was startled by the tears stealing passage down his face. “Don’t—don’t say anything,” he says. “I just…I wish you had told us sooner.” He shakes his head and suppresses a whimper. “Why did you wait?”

“I knew you would be too kind.” Zacharias’s answer is automatic, confident, and rightfully so. He laughs, but it sounds more like the wheeze of a fox. “No matter the danger, nor anything I said. You would still attempt to save me, regardless of the cost.” Though his eyes are hidden behind his mask, Alfonse can feel his gaze resting on every one of them in turn. When it is his time again, he has to fight the urge to kiss the bruises on Zacharias’s dark olive face away. “I know you well enough to know that,” Zacharias mutters. “How could I tell you?”

All around them the battle has faded, faded like the volume in Zacharias’s voice. At once Alfonse is exhausted, and a hungry yearning for the days of the past he spent with Sharena and Anna with Zacharias at his side yawns deep inside of him. He feels like he is the only one still breathing, and it scares him because Zacharias already feels so lifeless. Someone touches his shoulder and Alfonse flinches, relaxing only when he recognizes the Summoner’s neutral, sympathetic face. He wishes they would lend some comfort, but because they couldn’t possibly understand this strange bond being renewed—or broken, or mended, or lost—in front of them, knowing they would at least support him is enough.

Anna takes a deep breath, and then it’s the Commander of the Order getting to her feet and displaying her shining authority in every breath she uses. “Zacharias, I’m going to say this only once. You’re a member of the Order of Heroes. You can’t just give up and quit. _You_ taught us that, remember? If you can’t fight your blood alone…” she shrugs, somehow managing a genuine smile. “We’ll find a way to fight it—together. We travel so many worlds…surely one of them _must_ hold the key to freeing you?”

“So you say, Commander. But I have searched—I’ve traveled from realm to realm to every distant realm, but it’s like seeking a single grain of sand in the vastest of deserts.” The area around Zacharias’s mask moistens until the wetness breaks into a single crystalline drop of salt. “My hope is gone.”

Alfonse shudders and he feels his shoulders continue to quiver, a sure sign he’s going to finally lose his control. He survives this onslaught by focusing on the Summoner’s hand, tightening ever so slowly around his bicep to steady him, and Anna, who reaches out almost subconsciously. She fixes him with a look, a kind one that speaks volumes. “If you know Alfonse,” she says, still looking at him, “and you know _us…_ you know that we could never kill you once we found out. Just as you said. Your plan—to hide your identity, become our enemy, and die at our hands—has failed. There is no further point in giving up a cause you have already lost, but there is value in seeking out a new one. If you care for Alfonse and Sharena—if you want to see them live…” Now she looks at Zacharias and cups his face, just like the way Alfonse’s mother used to hold his. “Then you will never give up. And I will tell you right now, we will never give _you_ up.”

Zacharias is quiet for a long time. This gives Alfonse ample time to humor himself, to wonder if the man is actually considering Anna’s proposal. But he shakes his head once. “I have no choice but to return to Embla,” he says in a resigned tone. He looks at Anna sternly. “You should head back to Askr. All of you. Stop searching—I told you: there is nothing for you here.”

In the crushing dizziness that seals his vision in darkness and throws his world off balance, Alfonse makes a defeated sound that he catches only halfway through. Zacharias still hears him, and he looks at Alfonse hopelessly. He wants to say something, Alfonse knows it, but he remains silent. Alfonse lurches, feeling the heartache manifest physically inside of him like a virus in his cells and an infection in his mind. He would have fallen had it not been for the Summoner, who yanks him back up and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. It doesn’t help.

“Can’t you come with us?” Sharena asks, sounding as numb as Alfonse feels. A look reveals her sickly ashen face—she looks like the patients they sometimes visit in the infirmary.

“I am so sorry, Sharena. I cannot. Before long, I will try to kill you. This is a warning, a threat, and a promise, each of which you should heed.” Zacharias pauses, noticing the forlorn faces of the people surrounding him. He lifts a weak hand and plants it on his chest, swearing earnestly, “Trust me when I say I _will_ stop seeking my own death. I will resume my search across the realms. Perhaps there is a path that leads to my freedom. But that is a journey I must take alone, for the safety of you…my friends. Let me do this so I can show you I still care, and so I may know you truly do, too.”

He clears his throat and coughs. Then he looks past Alfonse’s shoulder, at the silent tactician to his left. “I’m counting on you to look after my friends, Summoner,” Zacharias says. His shoulders visibly droop with the weight of trust he is transferring onto the young leader. “I know you are well-equipped and capable.”

Zacharias stares at them until the Summoner nods quickly. Satisfied, he lets his eyes wander back to Alfonse’s, where one tense, electrifying tick elapses in the air between them. “And if I ever make another attempt on Alfonse or Sharena’s life…”

Alfonse swallows and blinks hard. There’s a tear, and then another, and another. Zacharias sees them all. 

“Kill me,” says the prince. “Consider it my last request.”

Alfonse sees Anna reluctantly nod at the edge of his vision. Sharena makes no movement at all, even when Zacharias straightens and slowly stands up. Alfonse immediately moves to his side to help him, but he shifts away and frowns.

“Zacharias…” Alfonse breathes meekly. He touches the man’s arm, and this time Zacharias lets him. Alfonse wants to say something but he has no idea how to vocalize all this pent-up misery inside of him, building up and threatening to explode. The pressure is unbearable. 

Zacharias looks away, and Alfonse hears Anna speak from behind him. “Alfonse,” she calls. It’s impossible to determine what she might be thinking. “It’s time to leave.”

He doesn’t say anything. He is still until he hears Anna’s retreating footsteps, joined by Sharena’s soon after. The Summoner is already gone.

“Join them,” Zacharias urges him quite suddenly. “Your real friends. They are whom you should seek happiness in. I can no longer provide you with what you wish. And I—” his voice cracks harshly, something Alfonse had never heard before—“I am sorry for that.”

Alfonse makes a sound of futile frustration and begs, “At least look at me, Zacharias. Look me in the eyes and tell me you do not belong with us.”

Zacharias does not hesitate. His fingers brush against his mask and then pinch around the sides. In one fluid motion, he frees the thin metal-wear from his face. When he looks at Alfonse, he transports them back into a time when he was not the prince of Embla and Alfonse was not the prince of sorrow. Eyes like cracked and bloodied amethysts bore into Alfonse’s, shining with unbridled emotion as rare as painite. 

“This is no longer my place, Alfonse,” Zacharias says. 

“I knew you once,” Alfonse cries, twisting his hand into the fabric of Zacharias’s mantle. “I know you remember what we did together.”

Zacharias pauses. “Of course I do,” he agrees lightly. “Do you know, Alfonse, that those memories are how I keep bringing myself back?”

This statement is like a blow to Alfonse’s gut and he stumbles back, trying not to gasp and failing. His vision tunnels until all he can see is Zacharias’s face, so different and so familiar all at once. Zacharias smiles sadly. “I will not forget you, Alfonse. Trust that I will one day return. On that day, I swear to you that I will make things right. Until then…” He takes Alfonse’s hand and lifts it to his face, resting a sincere kiss between Alfonse’s knuckles. Something wet hits his fingers—a tear. “Let me go.”

When he releases Alfonse’s hand, Alfonse slowly brings it to his own face and touches the place Zacharias kissed him to his own lips, not caring if the other man watches. He doesn’t say a word as Zacharias turns his back on him after a long moment. He still does not speak even as Zacharias walks away and begins to chant under his breath. He can only breathe again after a rift in space opens up in front of the dark prince, stealing him away in a flash without any final looks or promises. It disappears just as fast as it appeared. 

His tears flow without restraint, and the shame Alfonse used to feel is farther away than the one man who had ever owned his heart. Now, all he feels is earthshaking loss.

"Zacharias," he murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt my writing had changed a fair amount since I wrote the original, so I figured it was time for an updated version. Hope it was better~
> 
> EDIT 12/10: original version has been deleted.


End file.
